Bath Abbey–A Storied History–Part 2

Part 1 here

My kingdom for a wife (and an heir):

In the early 16th Century, Bath Abbey and England had a new king, desperate for an heir, married to a woman who could not give him a son.

Henry VIII, who had not expected the throne, was a carousing, hard-living man, tilting in yards, hunting, drinking and eating until late hours. And, he had a roving eye. Eventually, he decided that the first wife would not do, and to divorce her, he toppled the entire religious establishment in England.

Ultimately, Henry would have six wives, with a ditty to immortalize their fates: ‘Died, beheaded, died. Died, beheaded, alive.’

Continue Reading

Bath Abbey–A Storied History–Part 1

Economics at Bath:

What, you might ask, does the church of Bath Abbey have to do with the study of economics? Follow me here for a bit, please.

Take an Economics 101 class, and you will learn that Adam Smith is the ‘father’ of modern economics.  If Smith’s the father, then Thomas Malthus, with his theory on food production and population growth, is surely the ‘son’ of.  I’m muddling around here a bit, but what I mean to say is that both Smith and Malthus were hugely influential in their economic philosophies. 

The economist, Thomas Malthus, is buried at Bath Abbey
Thomas Robert Malthus. Source.

I write fiction now, but I do have three degrees in economics, and when I heard that Thomas Malthus was buried at Bath Abbey, I had to go pay my respects at his memorial. 

Malthus’ theory of population explosion is simple and reasonable enough.  If food production grows, then it doesn’t necessarily, over time, lead to a better standard of living, because the population growth will eventually eat up all the food surplus.

Continue Reading

Now I lay me down to sleep—Jane Austen and Winchester Cathedral—Part 2

We last left Jane Austen at Chawton Cottage, Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.  Jane’s most productive writing periods were pre-Bath (before 1801) and after the move to Chawton in 1809.  The first produced Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and Northanger Abbey.  During the second, she wrote Mansfield Park, Emma and Persuasion. She also began publishing in this Chawton period, beginning with Sense and Sensibility first.

Chawton Cottage was the hub of comfort for the extended Austen family.  Here, was Mrs. Austen, the mother of Jane and her siblings and grandmother to their children, and the two beloved maiden aunts, Jane and Cassandra.  And, the nieces and nephews came to stay, sometimes for a vacation, sometimes for longer when there was a death in the family and they needed a place to be and someone to cheer them up.

Chawton Cottage, where Jane Austen lived from 1809 until her death in 1817.
Source: Google Street View
Continue Reading

Now I lay me down to sleep—Jane Austen and Winchester Cathedral—Part 1

We blew into Winchester Cathedral at the end of a very long day, and I use that verb advisedly.  We had spent the morning and afternoon in Austen country—Steventon where she grew up, and the St. Nicholas Parish Church (Part 1 and Part 2 on the blog) and Chawton Cottage (Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3) where I wandered around for far too long.  So, by the time we got to Winchester Cathedral, there was, it seemed, just a teacup full of time left before the church closed for the day.

But, stepping inside was into a sea of calm.  I paid my respects at the grave, and still had time to walk around the cathedral, breathe the air, and dwell on its history.  And while Jane Austen is arguably its most important occupant, Winchester Cathedral was there for many centuries before her, and its mellow stones are steeped in legend…and some myth.  Read on.

Continue Reading

Not Northanger Abbey: Jane Austen, Steventon, and the Church of St. Nicholas—Part 2

(Part 1 here)

A half a mile south of the old rectory is the Church of St. Nicholas, where Jane’s father preached and led his flock, and where she attended services.  It’s also another smooth, macadamized road today—in Jane’s time, it would have been a rough path, slushy in the rains, dusty in dry summers.

The church dates to the 12th Century, so it had been standing there, among the fields and the pastures, for almost seven centuries by the time George Austen came to Steventon to be rector.  The warm southern wall of the church, right of the entry door, hosted purple and white sweet-smelling wild violets that bloomed in summer.  The close-cropped green of the churchyard was shaded by elms, hawthorns and a mighty, aged yew, which had probably been there for as many years as the church itself. Continue Reading

Not Northanger Abbey: Jane Austen, Steventon, and the Church of St. Nicholas—Part 1

 

I’m in a churn of delight when I glance at the GPS and see that the Church of St. Nicholas is not more than a half mile away from the turning.  Like the best of anticipations, I can’t see the church as we drive along the road, only trees that clot the roadside and arc their branches over, letting little tatters of sunlight through.  It’s a slim, country road, a one-laner.  Eventually, we hit the end of the road, and the church raises its steeple on the left in a miniscule churchyard.  Birds coo and chirp, bees hum in the sunshine; there’s one other car in the parking lot, whose occupants leave almost as soon as we get there. Continue Reading

A Church in translation–Salisbury Cathedral—Part 2

(Part 1 here)

The New Cathedral Rises

The first service at Salisbury Cathedral was held in 1225 CE, when Bishop Richard Poore deemed that enough of the church had been completed.  The next year, in March, the Earl of Sarum, William Longspee, who had been present at the dedication of the foundation (he laid the fourth stone)—died.  He is the first person to be buried in the cathedral.

The effigy of William Longspee, Earl of Sarum, at Salisbury Cathedral.  Source.

Continue Reading

Click here to read Indu Sundaresan's blog

A Church in translation–Salisbury Cathedral—Part 1

 

The old Cathedral at Sarum; the new one at Salisbury

Old Sarum; the Salisbury Cathedral that was: When the bishop conducted services at the cathedral at Old Sarum during a storm, gales raged high and howled strong, snuffing out his voice. The sparse congregation, huddling together, strained forward to listen as the wind grabbed the words from his mouth and flung them into the uninhabited corners of the building. Rain streamed through the leaky roof, drip-drip-dripping with a clatter onto metal plates strewn around the church to catch the water. It was cold, it was damp, and the fireplaces threw out a miserly, grudging heat. Continue Reading